Tell Me Why the Sky Cries

She later told me that she used to dress me up in a bright pink, polka-dot bathing suit, and push me out into the rain; that watching me splash around in puddles was more than she could ever ask for in a present.

Dad said sometimes she would join me, but most often not—she wanted to leave the exploring to me. What she didn’t know is that though I wanted, needed the freedom, I would always want to share the rainbows with her.

When I was old enough to dress myself, I proposed a question that made as much sense as only a toddler can make. ‘Mamma, why does the sky cry?’ She didn’t miss a beat, looking at me as if the answer was obvious. ‘Sweetie, the sky cries for the sake of crying.’ I nodded all-knowingly, returning back outside to kick in the puddles; I didn’t understand until much later in life.

Though I could dress and feed myself, she continued to push me out in the rain. In the beginning, it was drizzling. Then it began to come down in sheets. Each time I grew discouraged or shied away from the rain, She would convince me a rainbow would break through soon enough. And almost prophetically, one would.

So of course, warnings of acid rain or getting sick with a chill never kept me away from twirling and dashing in puddles. I found the fears concerning, but insignificant. Thunderstorms can roll in, for all I care, as long as I know a rainbow was waiting for me.

Now I have to keep marching on through the rain, but I know that she’ll still be there to lean on. So let the rain fall, let the sky cry for the sake of crying, because I’ve never found anything but hope in it.

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